Moments
by DescendingFrost
Summary: Her job was simple. Uncomplicated. She had a duty. But it would seem that John Stewart was unknowingly tearing apart her resolve. Hawkgirl/GreenLantern in a series of connected moments through the Justice League series. Some will be canon, others not.
1. Her Job

**A/N: A series of moments for Hawkgirl and Green Lantern. Some may include canon moments and others, like this one, may not. Spoiler wise and until further notice, through 'Starcrossed.' But t****his first installment is set somewhere in the first season, before the episode 'Legends.'**

* * *

Moments  
Chapter One  
_DescendingFrost_

* * *

She had never struggled doing her job. Being the best warrior, the fastest, strongest, even among the men of Thanagar had placed her in the best possible position for success. Even as a child, she understood that in order to be the best, she could not allow for faults and errors. With that, she attacked with vigor, becoming the best warrior—the best soldier she could be. And so, she had become patriot amongst her people. Through her youth and into adulthood, she had fought and fought to prevail among her peers and other Thanagarians. That is the way things were. She fought, she conquered. It wasn't an easy feat, but it was her drive.

She was Lieutenant Shayera Hol of Thanagar.

That was simple.

That was her identity.

It was not complicated.

A slow breath left her flushed lips, misting the thick glass in front of her. The woman closed her dark eyes, darkening the golden helm's lenses. It was silent for moments, nothing but the hollow echo of buzzing machines from the hallway beyond the thick door of her room invading its quiet. Taking in a deep breath, the Thanagarian woman opened her tired eyes, blinking as they searched through the twinkling stars. Dark eyes refusing to meet her own in the somber reflection on the glass, the woman's shoulders slumped, uncharacteristically weary.

Her talon-like nails pressed surprisingly sharp against her palms as her hands fisted subconsciously. What was _wrong_ with her? She had spent her whole life fighting amongst her people, finally representing their strength and traditions to all those that chose to oppose them. There was a _reason_ she was here in the Watchtower; a reason she was so invested in knowing each and every one of Earth's best heroes; a reason she watched every slight anomaly they projected.

Her job—she was a spy for the Thanagarian government, on _this_ mission.

_Nothing_ else mattered.

That was not complicated.

The next breath that left her sent a shudder running down her spine. Turning her dark gaze to her neatly tucked bed, her placated stare landed on the glinting silver mace—the gleam churning an unsettling feeling in her chest—a taunt that send a chill through her coarse feathers against her bare back.

No, her job was simple: Evaluate Earth's defenses in every way she had been trained to assess and prepare its people for what was to come.

That was uncomplicated.

It is precise.

No shades of grey.

Another shaky breath drawn from her lips in the silence of the unlit room portrayed more. Once again, the woman's eyes trailed along the gleaming stars, unfocused and confused. For every bit of truth behind her mission, what she had been expected to do, what she had fully estimated her job was, the churning hurt in her chest continued to swirl into a mass of uncertainty. For every bit of information she noted about the subtle lapses in Diana's conviction, to the blatant weaknesses of Superman, to outthinking the less than predictable mind of Batman, she felt a small chip of her fervor wither away. The most unsettling fact was that she didn't care. No, because there was a small part of her that didn't mind being taken in and loving these people, these friends, her new and adopted family. A piece of her found that she loved these people too. She yearned for it.

It wasn't immediate of course—she wouldn't have allowed herself that. It was a slow, transitional fact that she had slowly come to realize. She had suddenly stopped one moment as she taunted Flash, realizing her words to him were true—they were from _her_ and her _heart_. She _felt_ for him—and the others as well. Because, in that moment she realized that somewhere along the line—amongst the laughs and teasing she shared with her adopted brother, the many quirky disputes between Diana and herself regarding men and their certainly very _male_ ways, to challenging the limits of Superman and his regard for good and evil, to exchanging tests to both Batman and J'onn's intellect—she was no longer working. She was no longer the guise Hawkgirl. No, she very well may have been bare to them all—as honest as if she had no obligations to her people in the first place.

But _that_ wasn't even the worst of it.

No, these friendships could be maintained—she could handle those and continue her job.

She was a warrior—a patriot—a spy—a hero to _her_ people.

And she was falling apart.

The Thanagarian's arms tightened around herself, long soft wings enveloping her form. She could handle the friendships with Diana, Flash, Superman, Batman, and J'onn. They were containable. They were…safe. In the darkness of her silent room, eyes regarding the stars from her window, all she could see through the reflective glass were seemingly inhuman, pale green eyes, so _warm_ as they looked back to her. Through sharp, advanced ears, she could hear his deep voice, that low hum in his chest that sent a flush of heat through her breast—an attention on her she tried with all of her might to ignore.

John Stewart was tearing her apart.

Not that he would be able to tell—that anyone would be able to for that matter. For with every step he took towards her, she'd cut through the path with another flat remark—snide if she had it her way. But at this point, there was no denying it to herself. Snide and sharp as she may have wanted it to be—it was dulled by a traitorous tilt of her lips, a subconscious tone in her voice that refused to deliver the message with the vigor she needed to. Instead, she fell into this pattern—this hole of habit—and that same weak, selfish part of her heart that yearned for these people, did not wish to be dragged out.

Helm slipping forward as she dipped her head, she turned from the window to her low bed. Sitting on the end of it, she gently lifted the mace, her small piece of Thanagar and her people. Laid across her lap, her solemn gaze followed her talon like fingers across its points, dully shining in the dimly lit room. Like a beacon, it has lead the way here. As her tool for Thanagar's victory, it had sparked through the dark as her partner at every turn. That is how it always has been. It is her identity as a soldier.

"_It's important to you." _

_After nearly losing it in the debris the day before, her hand lay absently upon its handle for nearly every moment since then. She was somewhat surprised he had waited this long to mention it._

_Chancing a small guess, she replied: "As much as your ring is to you."_

_The hum he made caused her eyes to turn towards him. After a moment, he gave a small shrug. "I guess so." Her dark eyes were narrow under the helm as her gaze lingered on him. Hawkgirl nearly turned away by the time John continued but, his voice held her attention. His tone was slightly reserved, as if he were speaking just as he thought of it: "I'd like to think I was someone that could make a difference—even before I was given it." The man's eyes watched his flexing hand and the green ring on his finger even as she observed him just as adamantly. "And that I could do something, even without it now."_

_Before his gaze lifted back to her, hers was turned back to the monitor, pressing the keys as though she hadn't been completely engaged in him. She hoped it appeared that way because, the truth of the matter was that she couldn't have been more preoccupied by him if she tried. _

_But it wasn't her business to confirm or deny his hopes—it wasn't her job to care._

_And yet, she did._

_Lips pursed together, the mace at her hip felt as though it was tugging lower, heavy in a very figurative sense. It was long moments of monotone droning and clicking from the monitor as she checked the status of the newly repaired Javelin from the screen that he must have been watching her. She didn't speak and he obviously didn't hold his breath waiting on a response from her. Minutely, her ears caught the wisp of a small sigh—his slight disappointment at her lack of it regardless. Be it duty or not, the miniscule twinge of guilt attacked her before she could pound it back into its place deep beneath the surface. So, when his posture shifted, the words were tumbling out before she had time to rein them in:_

"_People like you make differences. It isn't in your nature not to. Your ring," slanted eyes darting to it for emphasis from the corner of her gaze, "makes your influence greater. But, it would exist without it."_

_Absently, she realized it was probably the most she had ever said to him without fighting—and, on one hand, she wished to take it back. It wouldn't do for her to outwardly project any of the slight admiration she held for him. The woman could hardly imagine the mortification that would surely insure if he knew what she was actually beginning to think of him._

_However, seeing his look of surprise and the way his eyes flitted back to her in a way that made her chomp on the inside of her cheek nearly made it worth it. Then, the smile he shared with her made her cheeks flush at the sincerity in it—luckily, hidden under her mask._

_Saving her the embarrassment, he lightly taunted, though his voice held nothing but warmth for this one moment of peace with her: "And here I was, thinking you didn't like me."_

"_Oh." Turning out of the chair and pulling herself to her feet, the scoff that followed surely looked more composed than she felt. "I think you're reading too much into it." Crossing her arms over her chest and giving a slight smirk, she looked up at him, "I'm only saying you're, thankfully, not entirely useless." She tried to make it sound insulting. Not blatantly or completely rude—but enough to make it feel real enough. But, when his smile only grew, she knew she had failed miserably._

"_Right." The woman turned her back to him, her feathers ruffled in slight agitation towards herself, and decided it was well past time to make herself scarce. Scarlet boots clicking as she walked towards the overhang, his next words sent her mind and heart into a frantic combustion. _"_You're strong enough without it. Your mace, that is—" she had halted to listen to his words, back straight as she could feel those warm, pale green eyes on her. "You do what you need to do—it's very…you." By his shift in tone, she turned, catching him with his hand absently rubbing his neck as if somewhat embarrassed. To her horror later, she discovered that seeing him like that, it endeared him to her. By her expression as he chanced glancing back to her, he elaborated: "Your job—you do it regardless."_

_The small tilt of her lip quipped her inquiry and humored him, "and what's my job, Lantern?"_

_The flitting of her feathers in a small twitch was the only indication of how close he had come to hitting home:_

"_Protecting—helping people that need and rely on you. That's our job, right?"_

Reliability, huh? Pressing her finger to the chilled stem on the mace in her lap, a wry smile found her rose lips. They all placed their trust into the wrong hands. She had been prepared for that….right?

Lifting the heavy weapon, she chanced another glace towards it, that unsettling feeling furrowing in her stomach again. Deflated and surprisingly disgusted, she turned away, setting the mace on her bed. What good was a weapon representing Thanagar when all she wished to do was represent the people of Earth? To represent the people she served with in The League? And, shockingly, to represent the kind of person—woman—_he _thought she was?

Overwhelmed and suddenly feeling more claustrophobic than she had in years, Hawkgirl rose from the bed and strode to the door, leaving the moment it allowed passage. The mace on the bed simply sinking in the shadows as another ornament in her dark, silent room.

In the quiet hall, the metal of the walls made her talons and wings twitch in agitation. She had to get some air. Making her way to the Javelin deck, there was glimmer of hope in her breast that she wouldn't run into anyone. Coming upon the dock though, a small bit of relief met her and she briefly relaxed, seeming no one present. But, that anxious feeling began to blossom in her gut again and the woman wasted no time flying to the mouth of the flier then into the control panel. Pressing a finger to her comm link, the other hand flew over the keys to start the machine and she spoke: "Batman, I'm leaving to patrol for the night. I'll keep in touch."

"You have watch tomorrow. Just don't be late."

She scoffed at his bored tone, "since when have I ever been late?"

"Since when have you left to _patrol_ at one in the morning?"

Her response was as quick as the Javelin was shooting from the Watchtower and towards Earth. "Hawkgirl out."

* * *

It was somewhat cool over the gusts of gentle winds but, glazing over currents of warm, was what made her feathers shudder with chills. Gliding in the dark of night, above mountains and trees made her breathe easier. It allowed her the freedom, the delusion of peace. Here, soaring above the quiet brush and wilderness, without the notice of people, she had no identity. Had no duty. No conflict in her own heart.

It was the perfect illusion of freedom.

Breathing deeply and evenly out in the open air, her eyes were closed: every beat of her heart, she heard; every stroke of her wings above the wind, she felt; every agonizing conflict she collided with in her own mind, she dispelled.

For now, she would not worry about what was to come—she would not struggle to swim in the pool of indecision she was choking on. No, for now at least, she would merely be. And that, for this small moment, brought a minute smile to her face.

* * *

She knew he was there before he approached her. Mostly because of how calm she felt from her hours of silent flight—she was so tranquil with her senses after the experience, she heard him before he landed yards behind her. But partially, she admitted with a small bit of bitterness, it was because she was so in tune with everything about him—his movements, the aura, the energy of his ring, and his mannerisms. But, with a somewhat reluctant sigh, it didn't scare her as much as it did even hours before. Not bothering to turn to acknowledge his approaching person, she inquired, "how'd you know where I was?"

He stopped just a few feet away from her but she could feel his pale gaze on her. It gave her a newly found thrill that she accepted in this one moment. "I figured somewhere with a good view. It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. No offense."

"None taken." Her lips twitched upward in a small hint of a smile as she watched the lightening hints of sunrise spread further and further up across the sky. So he knew a bit more about her than he let on. Sparing him a glance, she allowed the words to come from her, albeit a bit reluctantly. "Want to watch it with me?"

The fresh grin that touched his face as he sat down next to her pulled at hers as well. Knees tucked to her chest, she turned towards the rising sun and rested her chin on the top of her knees, arms locked around them. Subconsciously, her wings accommodated for the new presence, shifting and folding neatly, their tips spread on the ground of the ridge they sat on.

Maybe it was the acceptance that he unsettled her and that maybe she could just…allow it that made way for the sudden warmth that seeped into her. Or maybe it was the fact that, for all of her own observations about them, he had been making some about her. And, though a small whisper of her resilient self insisted that that alone should scare the hell out of her, at this moment in time, she couldn't bring herself to fear it. Instead, it filled her with a feeling that made the smile on her lips play a game of serenity for the first time in what felt like ages. It was a strange feeling.

"Look…" Her dark, helm covered eyes looked to him, widening and her pulse galloping when she realized he hadn't been watching the sky as she had—rather, he had been watching her. Adamantly if his somewhat awkward, half smile was anything to go by. "We don't really get along, I know. But…" he shook his head minutely, as if to gain his focus again. He turned his pale green gaze from her, the color amplified by the first waves of orange and yellows in the sky. She was struck by the mesmerizing difference.

"…But we are supposed to be on the same team. I just…just wanted to make sure you were okay."

A short laugh left her and she waved him off with a small shrug, "sorry Batman sent you out here. I just needed some fresh air." There was a pause as she looked back to the now visible sun gleaming over the mountains. Her slight grin did not shy away from her face as she felt his attention on her again. "But I'm okay." Her arm left her curled form as she elbowed his side, helm gleaming with the sun's fresh morning shine. "Thanks for checking up on me."

His surprisingly easy smirk matched her own as he inclined his head before his quip: "Figured I'd find _you_ before you found trouble. Glad I made it in time."

The next elbow wasn't nearly so gentle as the first nudge. She laughed at his wince.

* * *

Sitting in front of the monitors again, Hawkgirl held back a yawn that ached to be let free. Leaning back against the chair, she watched the screen focused but somewhat bored with the inactivity.

Although she felt remarkable better than she did before, the lack of sleep from her _patrol_ the night before was beginning to take its toll. But, talons tapping lightly against the mace strapped at her side, she knew it was worth it. Rekindling a bit of balance literally took a bit of the weight from her side. The Thanagarian withheld another yawn.

The sudden movement at her side nearly made her lip. Eyes swerving up to the dark clothed man, she blinked in surprise as he placed the cup of coffee in front of her. "Urh…thanks."

Batman minutely inclined his head, withdrawing his hand to his side, cape folding around his shoulders with the movement. "Don't mention it. You falling asleep while on watch isn't beneficial."

Hawkgirl's chuckle was short but obviously not completely unwarranted. "Right, right…" As he turned to leave, the notion struck her and she turned around in the chair, hands already around the coffee mug. There was still a slight smile on her face as she chanced a sip, "you didn't have to send Lantern out to find me; I know my way back here."

She paused mid sip when he turned back towards her with a cocked brow under his mask.

"Lantern." She prompted, confused. "This morning?"

Had she had normal vision, she would have missed the diminutive slip of a smirk at his lips. Her face flushed under the helm even before he said, "I didn't send him."

With that, the Dark Knight left her alone, cheeks reddened and a happiness that blossomed in her chest that clinged for the rest of the day.

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**A/N: I hope you liked it! Please feel free to drop a review or any comments you may have for me. I would love to keep improving with some feedback. Thanks for reading!**


	2. War World (Part I)

**A/N: As before and just to be on the safe side, spoilers will and until further notice be through 'Starcrossed.' This installment is in correspondence with the episode 'War World' and is in John Stewart's point of view.**

* * *

Moments  
Chapter Two_  
DescendingFrost_

* * *

He wasn't sure which he preferred. At least he had some inkling as to what to expect from her before. Now, he had no clue.

Walking down the streets of his hometown and through his neighborhood made it easier to think; easier to _be_ frustrated. This place was familiar to him, allowed him the freedom to mull in his thoughts.

Though he hadn't seen her in days, she had, regretfully, crossed him mind frequently.

Large hands tucked inside the long trench coat, John Stewart paid little regard as he passed the old bakery, the one his grandmother used to send him to on Sunday mornings for freshly made bread, nor the courts he used to spend all hours of the afternoon playing at before he was expected home for dinner. No, it was simply a fleeting glance, a touch of sunglass covered eyes before carrying on, lost in his thoughts.

While working, saving people, it was easy to ignore everything else—relationships, discussions, people. However, it was times like this, when he was left with nothing to do, that the frustrations and thoughts would come to him, begging to be spun; mainly, one particular thorn that had been digging into his conscious more and more frequently when he least expected it for the last few weeks.

That damned woman. He had had just about enough of her nonsense. She was brash, stubborn, and completely too eager to smash skulls. The part that truly irritated him though, was the fact that he had recently been enamored by sparse moments of peace with her—might he even say, a sophisticated conversation from time to time. With those, now it only served to prove that she _could_ be refined if she wanted to. A furrow came to him: perhaps refined wasn't the exact word. Difficult, maybe was a better one.

He had been brought up to respect others—to show them the same value they exempted to him. Through his life and into his adulthood, it was how he ran. Especially with those that were closest—his family, core, then this team. It certainly wasn't easy and some of his encounters begged to be disregarded. But despite personal feelings, he would do what was best.

After all, it wasn't about him.

It was about the team—about the bigger picture—the good of everyone.

But a single Thanagarian made it damn near impossible. It would be one thing if she was that block headed all the time—if that was the only way he knew her. But even before his trial at Ajuris Five when he had been framed, there had been these small moments—moments with her that, for a split second, she wasn't completely unapproachable, wasn't so…so…

John sighed, his shoulders heaving in a slump. This wasn't getting him anywhere. If she weren't so damn standoffish, maybe they would actually be decent teammates. Though he wasn't so optimistic as to think they would ever be great friends. But even her attitude made working with her a hassle.

Maybe he just didn't give her enough credit. She was tough; she did her job and obviously felt strongly about doing it too. Maybe that would just have to be good enough for him. Another sigh left him as he considered. Perhaps that was just how things were for her. He didn't know about Thanagar, her societal structures. Was that just how they _all_ operated? If that _was_ the case, his own mislead projections about her would all be misconstrued and completely irrelevant. And if _that_ were the case, he would just have to accept it. He certainly didn't have to like it but he also wouldn't have much of a choice either.

There was a small bit of doubt about that whole idea though. He had seen otherwise: she could be nice when she wanted to—_nice_ being a relative term, of course. He saw it when he was sure she wasn't looking—after all, she was the only person out of the seven of them that seemingly refused to meet the rest halfway, so he took it upon himself to discover why—there was a subtle kindness about her. But lord did she hide it extremely well. Even when she would rebuke Flash's blatant flirting with a haughty remark or well placed distraction, he found there was something else there. She wasn't as cold as she may have wanted to appear.

But for every progressive step he thought he may have made in the right direction with the red head, she would knock him right back to square one with just a scowl or well executed remark. It was exhausting. It was like she _knew_ he was making progress—and defended against that insight with _tremendous_ vigor.

Checking the wrist watch before watching the inner city bus make its rounds down the block, his frown remained though he had decidedly come to his conclusion: he would give her space, it was probably just her way of doing things. In any case, he was probably just pushing his values on her too hard and projecting a would-be problem and solution. He knew enough by now that there wasn't always one. He would cut her some slack.

The comm at his ear buzzed suddenly and he lifted her hand, pressing a finger to it. Surging through the connection came the voice of a seemingly panicked Thanagarian woman, the very one he had just been pondering. "Lantern...!" Her voice was rushed. "We have a situation. Get up here _now_!"

Fist tightening around the glowing ring, the green light swept through his form and dissolving the trench coat and street clothes. He was in the air the next second, pale light engulfing his body.

* * *

Though her back was to him and her attention focused on the glowing monitors, he lashed out—there was no way she should be this calm. The fact that she _was_ angered him even more. "How could this happen?" He demanded sharply, pale green eyes narrowed towards the twitching wings at her back. "You were _supposed_ to be monitoring the situation!"

Hawkgirl's movements were tense as she turned to finally look at him for the first time since his arrival. Chin dipped and dark eyes narrowed, she bit back and, to him, her tone sounded anything but apologetic, "listen, I _followed_ the protocols." Slipping the earpiece from her ear, it made a dull click as she forcefully set it against the desk under her hand, sharp eyes still on him.

Thoroughly unimpressed, her seemingly apathetic tone made his next words all the more condescending: "And _now_ two of our men are out there injured or maybe _worse_."

The breath of silence in the Watchtower made him pause. And, for a split second, he almost felt bad—what with seeing her eyes widen slightly at the bite his words delivered and her momentarily slack jaw. Of course she must already have thought of that—

Before he had a chance to relent, there was a brush of elongated wings and he was suddenly staring down into those dark eyes, boring into his with a controlled shimmer. A small part of him expected her voice to rise in response to go another round—but it was unexpectedly soft, "do you want to stand here pointing fingers or do you want to _do_ something about it?"

John's first instinct was to step back at her sudden closeness, which he did. But he was not one to be deterred and the Lantern was still rightfully angered at the entire situation, his frown marred hers equally. She was right. They needed to find their friends—alive or not. Ring light glinting as it rose in front of him; unwavering and determined resolve met hers.

"Lets go."

* * *

"There were hydrogen pockets in the asteroid."

Even if it had only been a murmur, in the green orb of light and standing so close to Hawkgirl, he heard her with little difficulty. In the pressing silence of space, the hush between them since leaving was seemingly heavy. He had to admit he was surprised she spoke at all.

"There wasn't enough time."

Was she trying to explain herself to him? Since when had she _ever_ done that? He realized that his silence had prompted her to continue, though it did sound a bit reluctant. But being this near to her in such an enclosed space, he could hear the underlying catch of her breath, secret hints of sincere emotions sprawling out under her tone: _It wasn't my fault. _And through his anxiousness to find both Superman and J'onn, his determination to get them there in one piece, he found a grove of guilt pressing in his stomach. From the corner of his pale eyes, her noted her deep breath, the hunched set of her shoulders, furrowed sulk of her lips from what he could see of them under the helm, and the flicker of dark eyes from side profile. From his vantage and what he already knew of her subtleties over the past year, he didn't know whether to find relief she could genuinely feel something other than anger or feel worse seeing her looking so ashamed. He certainly hadn't made it better by yelling at and accusing her.

John knew he had only one choice. Focus set back to the stars through the green haze, he attempted to relieve a bit of the damage he had caused. "Look, I didn't mean to say what I did. I shouldn't have blamed you. It isn't anyone's fault here."

With her silence, he focused on the small tilt her helm he detected in his peripherals. He tried again: "Don't worry, we'll find—"

"—How close are we?"

John's unsettled surprise flitted across his expression as her now sharp statement cut him off. She was looking at him with frank eyes and set jaw—none of those small inklings that reflected her worry or guilt for finding their friends remained as Hawkgirl's arms crossed over her chest. She was just a cold as she appeared to him from day one. He fought the spark of agitation that turned his face to a frown and caused his brow to furrow—what was this woman's _problem_? Her rudeness was completely infuriating. '_Well_,' he thought bitterly, '_that's what I get for trying to apologize_.'

Tensed and a bit put off by another game of hot and cold Hawkgirl, he faced ahead again, answering, "not far."

"Good."

* * *

Through the specs of rock and metal debris, John's pace hurried even as he pointed to the thicker floating wreckage: "There it is."

Pressing through the unidentified field of remnants from the explosion, his eyes scanned the area. Finally finding the broken Javelin did not comfort him. Their bubble pulled closer to it, both heroes searching for anything resembling the Martian or Kryptonian. When there was no movement and the woman at his side said nothing either, he continued around it to its open cockpit, seeing nothing. John's stomach dropped at the destruction around him, his optimism becoming more and more bleak.

"No sign of them," Hawkgirl intoned solemnly as she continued to analyze the masses of rock. His gaze turned downward and, flashing a beam of green light into the darkness of space, followed along as a flashlight. As their orb left the Javelin behind, a shimmer of white licked against the projected green light and a new bubble of hope burst in his chest. Solidifying the now distinct path, he flew closer before clamping down on the newfound faith that both of their friends were still alive. "An ion trail," sparing the woman a glance as she leaned forward to see it for herself, he nodded as she looked back towards him, "looks like a ship's been by here. A big one." John didn't have to elaborate for her to understand—if someone had picked them up, there was a chance they were in one piece. The larger the ship, the better chance its origins weren't that of pirates or raiders. There was still hope.

Newfound optimism and determination followed the winding white path through the darkness of space, carrying them further and further from the explosion sight.

Now that his concerns were validated, there was a new issue. So Superman and J'onn probably hadn't been dead from the initial explosion—a small bit of him hadn't expected them to, especially the Man of Steel. But all the way across the galaxy, there was far more worse things that could happen. That one thought in mind, the orb's pace sped up again, winding above the trail of white.

* * *

He stopped, his gaze narrowing as it scanned the dispelled ion trail in obvious irritation. Damn it.

Hawkgirl's inquiry voiced not a moment after he stopped, "what's wrong?"

"I'm losing the trail." His pale eyes scrutinize the fog-like dissolves of their lead, his jaw locked in concentration. John ground out in frustration, "there are too many others covering it."

"Think that may be why," her somewhat flat tone gained his immediate attention and he looked to where she pointed, eyes minutely widening. The darkened purple sphere was easily recognizable to him even as the many winding exhausts became shadowed and he withdrew the flashlight extension.

"Looks like a refueling port." John's exclamation was more so to himself than her though he should have been more insightful to the response.

"If you say so, Sherlock," she retorted dryly. The Lantern's green eyes swept to her even as she moved closer within their light sphere towards the moon. Did she even know who Sherlock was? "What are you _waiting_ for?" Turning on him with an exasperated wave of her hand, she cocked a brow at him and pressed again towards the port. "Let's check it out."

John withheld the sigh that wished to escape him as he moved their orb again and couldn't help but ask: "Who's driving here anyway?"

She didn't deem the question important enough to answer.

* * *

The moment that the orb's light dissolved back into his power ring, the woman nearly took off. "Hold on—" she paused to look at him, mace already in hand as they floated above the cluttered city bathed in its purple moonlight. "Where do you think you're going?"

"If we split up, we can cover more ground." Hawkgirl's impatient stare made his frown deepen. Even as he was about to disagree with her, more so to keep an eye on her and that mace, her expression slipped into an easy half glower and she pushed. "You wanna find them or not?"

John acquiesced with a sigh. "Just don't get too…far…" His words trailed off as she was already gone and soaring towards the streets below. For a moment, he watched after her before he finally shook his head at her brashness. Flying in the opposite direction as she had disappeared, he almost didn't feel bad admitting that she seemed to sometimes be more trouble than she was worth.

* * *

The yellow alien's grunt did little to relinquish his ire. He had been at this for what felt like hours and had found little to nothing—aside from discovering that this place had a very strict morale code: don't talk. "I keep tellin' you, I don't know nothing." The alien's bug like eyes spun for a moment as he responded. John's grip tightened on the thing's collar, all but fed up of hearing that same statement. "I mind my own business and you should too," the male's grubby webbed finger pointed toward him as emphasis before letting out another grunt as he was shoved against the opposite wall by a very scorned John Stewart.

"My friends are _missing_," he barked lowly, tired of these useless interrogations. Leaning forward to the gulping alien, his inhuman green eyes narrowed dangerously: "That _is_ my business."

Obviously aware he had trounced into perilous territory, the alien's voice shook under the unwavering stare of the Green Lantern, "h-hey, don't bust my mandibles. Around here, it's best not to ask too many questions."

_Now_ they were finally getting somewhere. Releasing and allowing the thing to slide down to the dirt of the alleyway, he continued his questioning, "Why?"

"There's a lot of stuff going on." Bugged eyes shifting uncertainly at being released, the response continued hurriedly, "smuggling, bootlegging, slave trading." With the last, the Lantern's eyes narrowed. There's no way J'onn or Superman—

The familiar roar that tore through the alleyway had his attention the moment it was wrought. From the side of the building window, a burly blue alien was chucked through the glass, shattering it before another followed, landing on top of him. John turned towards them as his informant scampered away just as the two were clambering to their feet. The Lantern was less that surprised when his partner in crime swooped out of the window, mace in hand and wings spread. The two separated, finding their feet to split before she landed between them, narrowed eyes looking to both. Just as she straightened, another brawny alien hurried through the door of the building with a smaller one, easily finding their way to her open side. Surrounded and seemingly unmatched, the Thanagarian's fists rose and her shoulders hunched.

From his end, the Lantern approached, grabbing one of the window flying offenders and slamming him against the wall of the alleyway, knocking him unconscious immediately and slumping to the ground.

Weapons drawn from the biggest red one, the square faced blue alien charged with his fist raised, snarling. Twirling on her right, the woman delivered a sound kick to his chest, sending him flat against the wall before thrusting a powerful blow to the red one's face. He flew across the alley into the sparse onlookers, who fled the scene with young ones tucked against their legs to shield them. The third alien quickly jumped her from behind and tackled her, wings tucked between them as they fell forward to the ground, a grunt being expelled by her as she hit the ground. Back on its feet, the red faced alien barely made it to the dog pile before she had the opportunity to throw the other off, the Thanagarian disappearing under both obviously larger men.

'_More trouble, my ass.' _he admitted once more to himself as he stepped forward.

Pointing the ring toward the pile, it lit both now struggling aliens from her back and lifted them off of her. "Let me guess." Throwing them across the alley and away from the woman, she peered at him from over her shoulder as she rose from the ground. Dryly as he looked at her, his own irritation doubled at her now stubborn glare. "It was something you said."

Hawkgirl's response was short but succeeded in riling his already sour mood. As she pressed herself to her feet, she rebuked the help and persevered, "I could have handled them."

John approached her side, glaring down at her even as she stood. Was it this woman's _job_ to get in trouble? His mounting agitation made his response scathing, "I've got more important things to do than saving _your_ butt."

Hawkgirl looked like she was ready to chase after them as they toppled over themselves to escape. She insisted, "those three knew something—I'm sure of it." Her dark eyes turned back to him as she spun around, glaring at him accusingly. "And you're letting them get away!"

Stepping past her, he lifted his arm, ring pointed after them: "Wanna bet?" The green light that shot from the power ring engulfed the now flailing square faced, blue alien as it lifted him, drawing him back to them even as he struggled. The Lantern reached for him and cuffed his collar, ensuring he didn't struggle. "_Relax_," he commanded. "All we want is information about our friends." At the blank yellow eyes in front of him and lack of response, John sighed as he changed tactics:

"You can talk to me, or you can talk to her."

By the way the alien's square head turned to follow his jutted thumb in his partner's direction over his shoulder and the resulting shudder than ran through him, John Stewart could only deduce the good cop bad cop routine would be something they practiced more often.

Almost immediately, the information was forthcoming as the alien's attention turned back to him. "I heard something about a Kryptonian." John's chest lifted even as his grip remained tight on the prisoner. The alien continued, "he was being taken to war world."

Putting the alien down now that he was talking, he asked, "War world?"

"Nasty place. Heavy into carnage for the masses."

From his side, the now calm Thanagarian's metal mace extended in front of her towards the alien as she spoke for both of them:

"Take us to this War World."

He did not pity the hopeless expression the alien portrayed looking down the handle of the sparking mace.

Trouble indeed.

* * *

**A/N: That is the end of part one of the 'War World' installment. Thanks for reading! Please feel free to give me any feedback. I always appreciate it. **


	3. War World (Part II)

**A/N: To be on the safe side, spoilers will be through 'Starcrossed.' This is the second installment for the corresponding episode 'War World.'**

* * *

Moments  
Chapter Three  
_DescendingFrost_

* * *

"What's wrong now?"

Though she hadn't outwardly said anything, her low huffs and unapproachable scowl from under the helm sent the message loud and clear. Standing next to her, the Green Lantern couldn't be affronted when she didn't visibly respond, but, instead, opted to continuing watching the people from her place next to him, arms crossed and back pressed against the wall of the building.

"I don't like this."

That was specific. He prompted again, "don't like what?"

He _felt_ the heat of her glance rather than saw it. Under the gleaming golden mask, her jaw was clamped tight, expressing her distaste. "We should have followed him. There's no way we can trust that—"

"I know." Sighing tiredly at her sharp voice, he felt it was better to end her rant before it even began. "But if he _does_ decide to break for it, he won't get far."

Hawkgirl's predictable scoff didn't help his patience. "_Right_."

How could one woman be such a pain? If he wasn't forced to be here with her… "Is it so hard to just agree with me _for once_?"

The woman's wing twitched—the only reason he knew this was because they brushed against his shoulder—and her face turned to glance up at his. Beyond the golden helm, discerning her expression was impossible. To him, her eyes seemed bland and uninterested with the cool but dark film over them. "If you were actually _right_, sure." John just shook his head as she continued, "let me tell you something—he can't be trusted. We should get in there," she jut a thumb in the direction of the door between them, "throw him in his ship and get going. Waiting on his terms is a _mistake_."

Feeling the need to pinch the bridge of his nose between his gloved fingers, he merely sighed instead. "He said five minutes. We will give him five minutes."

Pushing away from the wall, her hands fisted at her sides as she pressed again, watching him carefully. "That's four and a half too many."

John closed his eyes and didn't respond for a moment. The sounds of clustered people, the bar across the way, and now her pacing steps in front of him, John allowed for a small moment of peace to think.

John knew that Superman was the Kryptonian these people were speaking of—and if Superman was alive, there was a good chance J'onn was as well, even if he hadn't heard of his whereabouts yet. But on a place like War World? He was beginning to piece together a slight explanation, but wasn't sure himself. Kryptonians were powerful, Superman was powerful…for what he had gathered of this place, he could only assume the slave trade meant one thing. '_One step at a time, Stewart._'

Those pale green eyes blinked open when Hawkgirl's footsteps suddenly stopped. Finding her poised and tensed, her next words solidified his mounting headache: "Time's up." She was rearing back and he jolted into action to hold her back as she nearly succeeded in kicking down the door. "H-hey!" The woman glared at him from the other side of the glowing green wall between her and the door. "The hell is this?" Focusing her attention on him now, he noted the jittery movement in her finger tips, itching towards the mace at her hip. That, in turn, somewhat shocked him: would she actually _use_ that on him?

The grating sound of said door opening made both of their eyes snap towards it. The square faced alien stepped out and, looking suspiciously from hero to hero, wisely decided not to comment.

Quickly and for both their sakes, John intervened: "You're ready?"

Nodding and turning to the rooftop, Lantern followed, the green wall between him and his partner dissolving. The whoosh that met his ears he identified as feathers, indicated the Thanagarian had thankfully followed closely behind.

* * *

"Ow—" John received a sharp elbow to his left tricep in retaliation, before her growl enlightened him to his fault: "—get off my wing."

Shifting away from her, he was pressed even closer to the side of the ship's interior, cramped and uncomfortable. Regardless, he murmured a small but sincere apology.

"Why do we have to ride in this rust bucket?" Hawkgirl demanded, shifting again in the tiny space, knocking her knee against his chest. The sharp point of the helm narrowly missed slicing his cheekbone as she craned her head back to look at him. "What's wrong with your ring?" Even now, John heard the accusation lying beneath it and his jaw tightened.

"Lady, the galaxy is a big place." Chancing a turn to answer, the square faced alien blinked back to them through the compact ship. "I need my navicomputer to find war world."

John peaked a glance at her, hoping to diffuse the short fuse that was the Thanagarian. "He's got a point."

"_Great_." Swinging to him again, he watched as her jaw snapped shut and she scowled from under her mask up at him. "Take _his_ side."

Though he maybe should have expected such ire, he was honestly taken aback by the earnestness of it. Blinking pale eyes, John frowned defensively, "I'm not taking his side, I'm just saying—"

The flighty tone she used to cut him off made those eyes narrow, "I'm wrong again."

"Uh…" their driver's question didn't register with him, "do you two want a little privacy?"

John glared at her—pent up and residual anger with her brash, bull headed personality finally imploding.

Obviously, the inquiry didn't reach her either. Finally rounding on him, obviously as fed up with him as he was with her, she didn't look away as her shoulders hunched and, leaning forward, got a better vantage on him. "What exactly is your _problem_, anyway?"

"Your attitude, girl." Pointing at her, he didn't realize how loud his voice had gotten until he was easily speaking over her. "Is _everyone_ on Thanagar as thickheaded as you?"

Hawkgirl bristled and jerked back. "_Thickheaded_!" Growling as she shifted, wings fraying against the glass window in their small space. He nearly smirked at her distress by his proximity. She clearly wasn't very comfortable being this near to him. Albeit, he would admit he wasn't necessarily cozy either but seeing her squirm even in her anger made it worth it. That said, he was surprised she hadn't taken a swing at him yet. "Why you self-righteous, green eyed—_ohh_!" Shaking her head and spinning away from him for a moment, she fumed and muttered what he could only assume to be Thangarian. Before he could utter a word, she had already rallied into him once more, voice rising again. "My attitude is _fine_. Except when _you're_ involved." John blinked, distracted for a split second—was that smoke? Glancing upwards to the vent, his eyes widened. "And another thing," she continued, oblivious to the danger he had only just realized they were now in, "just 'cause you've got that fancy ring _doesn't_ make you a real—"

Hawkgirl's words bit off in a sharp cough as the gas spread in their trapped enclosure. Blinking as the angles of her face and the smirking alien from beyond the glass became harder and harder to distinguish, he coughed again, gasping for breath before doubling over. The last thing he saw before darkness coveted him was the winged Thanagarian pounding on the glass, cracks appearing and spreading before she coughed again and he felt her crumple next to him.

* * *

It was hard to breathe.

Feeling the weight shift to his side, another cough racked him, stirring him into consciousness. At his fingers he felt soft dirt—he was laying in it. Sand? Pale eyes peeking open and blinking blearily, John coughed again, his throat dry and hurting. Sitting up, the man's gaze finally cleared and he looked around. The dunes and rocky cliffs were vacant, eerily silhouetted by the faint light of the planet's atmosphere.

Fisting his hand, he looked down to his ring, ensuring it was still there before he moved to stand.

Where was he?

Wracking his still somewhat hazy mind for some answers, he rubbed the back of his neck. A shooting throb jolted through the contact where he must have been hit. Turning around, he continued to attempt his recall.

Superman and J'onn were missing, right? That's why he was looking for them. There was that alien—the one that tricked him. She _had_ said he couldn't be trusted—

Whipping around, he called in sudden realization: "Hawkgirl!" The Lantern's vocals were weak, scratchy. He called again, uncertainty and dread filling his chest.

She had been with him. But, as far as he could see over dusty dunes and flat planes, she was not with him now. The sheer amount of dread that made his stomach drop would have surprised him if he weren't so apprehensive about it in the first place. Was she hurt? Was she even on this planet? Did that scum still have her? What if she…?

John refused to think the worst for the time being. Taking a slow breath, one that allowed his heartbeat to sound in his ears in the silence, he exhaled in newfound focus. Resolved to expel all other options first, his ring glowed as he glanced around the darkness once more. He _would_ find her.

* * *

The relief he felt as he laid eyes on the folded wings flat against the soft sands was indescribable. Shooting to the rocky ledge she must have landed on, she was stirring before his feet touched the ground.

"Lantern?" Sitting up and glancing about her, the panic there was irrefutable to his ears.

"Over here." The woman's head spun to meet his location, eyes widened in her surprise. "Looks like we got taken for a ride."

"I _knew_ we shouldn't trust that freak." The Thanagarian's hand lifted to her head, fingers pressing against the helm to straighten it. He watched when she wasn't looking at him. Finally in front of her, the disheveled appearance of his counterpart gave him a bit of relief; at least she wasn't hurt. "Any idea where we are?"

"Not a clue." As he looked down towards her and offered her his hand, the transition was so simultaneous he nearly missed it when she took his help. In an instant, her lapse in control was appraised then removed—by the time he had pulled her to her feet, the downwards tilt of her lips expressed, what he could only assume at this point, to be her permanent scowl.

It was unsettling when her eyes widened again and darted to his when her hand was still in his. The woman jerked her hand back as if she had been shocked, pulling it to her chest, affronted, and the thought that remained with him as she schooled her expression was how surprisingly small her hand was compared to his. "Great." Lantern blinked at her as she frowned again. "So we don't know where we are," he found he now remembered their fight in the cargo ship as she pressed one of her talon-like fingers to his chest. She continued, nearer than he was used to, "we don't know where war world is, and we don't even know how to get back to earth." In her frustrated exhale, she backed away from him. John watched as she walked away from him, noting the sullen dip in her wings as she held her hands out and away from her and asked, "how much worse can it get?"

"My ring could get us off this planet," looking at his ring now, his frown deepened. He hadn't recharged before they had left and he had done nothing but use it through this whole endeavor. Minutely discerned with this thought, he tried to calculate how long it would last before dying completely. His guesses didn't bode well if they didn't get out of here. But he continued, not wishing to voice that particular concern but not necessarily willing to outright lie either, "but without knowing exactly where we are, we take the risk it will run out of power before we find another inhabitable world."

"So we're stuck here." How he knew she had a brow raised in skepticism was beyond him—he certainly couldn't _see_ it but, somehow, knew it was there. "Is that what you're saying?"

"Maybe forever," he admitted solemnly.

Not only was her panicked exclamation surprising, he also found he didn't know what to make of it: "Just the two of us?" If he weren't as distressed by the situation himself, her expression of dawning realization and subtle horror would have made him feel a small victory against the stubborn woman. As it was though, he didn't feel any sense of achievement in finally silencing her. In fact, watching dark eyes fall and something akin to desperation sweeping over her stature disturbed him more than he would truly admit. "…Oh."

The first step stumbled was stiff but, as he watched her turn away completely and her long wings open around her, he couldn't find anything to stop her from thrusting into the air. The inaudible sigh that left him was expelled as she flew off, landing on the rocky cliffs. Despite her obvious wish for space, he found he was following her regardless—even when he stepped down behind her, with her shoulder turned in, hunched, and those wings, his secret insight to her genuine emotions, slumped and soft tips willowed on the ground at her feet. Stirring and uncomfortable was the guilt he felt in his gut and, again, he felt the need to make up for it.

"Look," his hand clasped her defined shoulder and he felt her stiffen under his palm at the sudden contact he was sure she didn't appreciate—but then, to his astonishment and perhaps to his relief, she relaxed. He continued, feeling more assured by her subconscious acceptance than he ever had before, "maybe I shouldn't have been so hard on you. I—"

"Lights!" Hawkgirl's gasp pulled her away from his grasp but he followed her gaze regardless. His eyes widened—beyond the dunes, soft reflective light blurred over the ridges into the sky. When she turned back to him, the helm caught the faded luminescence and the upwards turn of her lips made him wonder if he could count the times he had seen it on a single hand or not.

In fact, it may have been weeks since he'd even seen something like that from her. It wasn't as if he had noticed it until then but, at this exact moment, he didn't realize how much it had stuck with him since the first time. John stepped past her then and her wings spread to take flight. They both took off, flying over the darkened dunes towards the soft light but despite his focus, he took the moment of silence to reflect on this small discovery.

A small lilt pressed at his lips—he had just been thinking of his relationship with her not two days earlier while in the streets of Detroit and, here he was again, wondering. If just seeing a smile from her—not one of her rugged, victorious ones or the snide, sharp ones—but a true smile from her was enough to have him spun in a knot of his thoughts about her… he smirked somewhat ruefully, chancing a look to said woman who was blissfully unaware of his torrent of thoughts as she glided next to him.

With this small bit of understanding about himself, John accepted that it was partially his fault. Having experienced her small slips of sincerity, her short laugh as she watched the sun rise with him weeks ago, to her awkward bouts of stunned surprise when she caught herself in physical contact with him, to the few, uplifting smiles she would give, he knew they were enough to keep him trying—trying to make friends with her, to be her teammate, to understand how she ticked.

More trouble than she was worth?

John's eyes flickered to her again, only to find hers quickly darting away.

Perhaps only a little bit.

* * *

Swooping down, he looked around. Piles and piles of hunks of metal, trash, and other items built mountains around them.

Hawkgirl stepped forward, helm tilted and scrutinizing. "What a dump."

"I've seen worse," he retorted as he followed her toward the lit fire in the middle of the garbage glade.

"I'll bet." John caught the telltale signs of her infamous smirk as she neared the fire, a pot brewing over top of it. Lifting the lid, she took a short sniff before she recoiled in disgust, face scrunched and tongue sticking out, "ugh!"

He would be lying if he said he had tried to hide the amused smile that flit his features at her expense. Nearing one of the tall piles, his pale gaze swept over a magazine in the pile. Quirking a brow at what he could only assume was a scandalously clad female alien plastered on the front, he shook his head, bemused: "One man's trash is another man's treasure."

John jolted to awareness when, from the rubble pile, items clattered around as a gruff, golem-looking alien with a furry Mohawk emerged from the mountain. Axe in hand, it yelled at him, "no stealing!" One of his red-splotched eyes wouldn't open but stared beady and narrowed at the man. John raised his hands in a placating gesture, beginning to explain when he felt something collide with his back and thick, scaly appendages wrapped around him. Enclosing around his neck, the alien on his back squeezed as the Lantern's hands scraped at them, grunting in his effort to extricate himself. "We don't…" still not willing to attack them, he lifted one of his hands to the mohawked alien as it trudged towards him, axe in a steel grip. "…want any trouble."

Charging forward with his weapon, the alien lifted it over his head in front of John, "liar!" Bringing down the sledge axe, John lifted his ring in front of him, a shield materializing in front of him as the metal expelled sparks off of the surface as it struck, time after time. Holding one tentacle at bay with the other hand, he tugged it a small distance from his airway. Where was…?

A single cry from his fierce and always battle ready partner answered the unspoken question as he saw another large alien fly across the field and into another pile of garbage.

Coughing as the blue, tentacled alien on his back finally got a better grip on him, John blocked another blow with his shield before throwing his arm back, elbowing the clinging alien with enough force to send him flying into the piles. Unconcerned with the lack of advantage now, the axe wielding alien hollered again, pulling back for another blow on the unwavering shield. "No one touches our stuff!"

Striking again, the axe stopped mid strike, surrounded by John's ring. The dumfounded thing held onto the weapon even as it hurled them both across the field to land on the other alien, flattened on the ground beneath the pile. At the force, the mountain of trash wiggled with uncertainty before it collapsed in an avalanche over the two, burying them.

John turned back to his counterpart—his heart leaping as he called out to her, "no!" Pale green light held the mace an arms length away from her opponent's face, suspended but still in her more than willing to continue grasp. Hurrying over to what he was certain was a less than pleased Thanagarian; he had to blink twice when she merely looked at him blankly and allowed him approach. Even more surprising, she permitted him to pass her and pick up the grey-scaled alien at her feet. "I'm asking nicely," bringing him up to face him, by the cuff, he demanded, "How do we find War World?"

"You want to find War World?" John's attention snapped to the low, slow voice. From the flame pit yards away, the large male alien that loomed nearer from the shadows made the cuffed one shudder in what he assumed was fright. The tall alien was built—had scars and worn battle wounds covering the broad expanse of body. But John Stewart's attention remained on the jagged, obviously somewhat new addition on his chest—the shape forming a broad 'S' he was all too familiar with.

Releasing the captive and allowing him to scamper away into the shadows, the Green Lantern straightened as he felt Hawkgirl move to stand beside him, tensed and ready.

The alien jabbed a thumb to his chest, just under the spine of the 'S' and glowered, single blank eye unwavering: "Talk to me."

* * *

**A/N: And that is the end of the second 'War World' installment—please look forward to the third and final corresponding chapter to that episode. Then we will check back in with Hawkgirl's POV. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and please feel free to send me a review! I would love to hear any thoughts or concerns and, I'll admit, strongly encouraged by them. So send some love? :sheepish smiles:**


	4. War World (Part III)

**A/N: To be on the safe side, spoilers will be through 'Starcrossed.' This is the third and final installment for the corresponding episode 'War World.' Also, I would like to dedicate this chapter to someone that has completely inspired me but lovely words of encouragement and flowery attention that I shamelessly crave. And so, I dedicate this installment to **S-Bumblebee. **Thank you for cheering in my little corner. I really appreciate it.**

* * *

Moments  
Chapter Four  
_DescendingFrost_

* * *

The soft thump paired with the crackling embers of the nearby fire were the only utterances for moment, before the Thanagarian voiced her opinion, another absent thump resounding as the mace handle met her opposite hand again. Dark eyes scrutinized the burling mass in front of her with something akin to bemused ruefulness. "Aha…" the noise hummed against pursed lips, "so you need _us_ to get there." Finally crossing her arms, she tilted her helm, glancing up at John. "Think we can _trust_ him, Lantern?"

The man nearly rolled his eyes at the obviously barbed words—he was done trusting these people. But the Lantern's pale gaze swept over Draaga again, reluctant. As much as he hated to admit it, unless they relented and accepted help—any kind of it—they would remain in a stalemate. Personally, attention drifting to the shorter woman at his side, he wasn't too keen on spending the rest of his days on this planet alone with her.

"You take me with you," the rough timbers in Draaga's voice had John on edge regardless of his musing, "and I'll get you to War World."

By the way she leaned forward, helm dipping lower, the Lantern knew where she was headed. And so, he quickly held a hand to her shoulder, silencing whatever she had been in the process of retorting. Her head swung to him, frowning. With a minute shake of his head, he pulled her back with him away from Draaga. Thankfully, she complied silently. However, yards away and out of earshot, she nearly jumped him: "You can't honestly be thinking of doing this, right?"

John gave a short sigh, gazing at the glowing specks that glittered off of the gold helm—not looking at her directly, he answered, "it isn't like we have a choice."

"Huh—_right_—because our last alien excursion went _so_ well."

It was amazing he was able to resist rolling his eyes at the less than obvious attack. Finally sighing as the woman's watchful gaze lingered on the movement, he attempted to shake off whatever fight they were bound to get in to if they continued on this track. Voice lowering in a placating manner, he hoped to sway her: "there isn't much of an option otherwise. If there was another way, we wouldn't need to do this." Pale eyes drifted to look at the large figure of Draaga, his distrust evident. "This could be our only chance, Hawkgirl."

Looking to her somberly, he took a moment to see if she would give in—he wasn't disappointed: though her frown remained, tilted down and narrow face sullen, her dark eyes finally closed in a sigh that heaved her rigid shoulders forward. He noted the hinge of her jar and her cheek—she must have been chewing on the inside of her mouth in indecision—and he regarded her somewhat offhandedly: how could he suddenly see so much more of her subtle nuances?

Before he could ponder more on the matter, she shifted, hands rising to clutch her curved hips and, shrugging, she agreed: "they would do it for us."

The Thanagarian was right: Superman and J'onn wouldn't have thought twice. A weight felt as if it had been taken from her taloned hands from his shoulders as she twisted around towards the lumbering and impatiently waiting alien—for once, they worked through something together. It was somewhat shocking—what with a little patience, maybe this was possible…

"We'll take you to War World." Hawkgirl's flat stare was lost on the equally expressionless Draaga. However, slender hand slipping to the base of the resting mace, her silent warning was not.

* * *

In the silence of the glowing sphere, the woman seemed to read his mind—the question that had been brimming and bubbling in his mind since the alien had first lumbered out of the shadows—and finally asked:

"Draaga," Hawkgirl was watching him as intently as she had since leaving, stare steel and unrelenting in her wise distrust. Not able to completely fool the Lantern though, he could feel the trepidation in her seemingly uninterested question: "that scar on your chest…"

"What about it?"

"I was just wondering. Our friend has something just like it."

The winged woman jolted in surprise as Draaga's thick arm suddenly shot forward. "There it is," he growled, pointing to the smog-sprouting planet. It was a pale sphere of color against the bleak darkness it was pressed against in his vision. Even from his point as he sped forward towards it, the dim tones of a graying world were clear. Even without the evident debris circling the surface in orbit, the lack of vibrancy dispelled from the little planet sobered his mood greatly.

Drab and dry, there wasn't much else offered from what he could see.

The Thanagarian that appeared in his peripherals when she inclined closer to him, her attention on the nearing world as intently as his own, seemed to relay the same—if the sullen dip of her chin in a frown was anything to go by.

"There's nothing but desert," she stated slowly. Sure enough, the dim russet shades surrounding the slowly appearing civilization was nothing but rocks and sand.

Following the reference the battle worn alien gestured, the being grunted, "doesn't matter."

His pale eyes gleaned to Hawkgirl's as hers swirled to meet his as well in an exchanged glance.

* * *

John's grimace spread even as he supplied: "It's a big place."

Even that seemed to be an understatement. From even the perceived horizon line, buildings, russet and tan clay based, stretched as long as his pale gaze could see. Even looking down through the soft film green of the orb scanned over the many workshops, homes, and markets and the numerous beings bustling and working below. The faded fabrics lined the windowpanes, the drooped tents dispersed over sweet talking sellers, and the thrum of declining buyers seeking better deals infused his breast with a dread. Hawkgirl voiced his dismay in an uncharacteristically hopeless voice, "how will we ever find them?" Her dark eyes swiveled to his, seeking what he could only presume was reassurance or faith. The lantern had been wrong before though.

"That's your problem."

The sudden blast to the back of his head knocked his breath away—darkness swam in his vision as he struggled for breath in the sudden black. Vaguely, he heard the woman beside him call out as the sudden flush of warm air assaulted his dim senses. He knew he was falling—the pull towards the ground reached his throbbing conscious—but he couldn't do anything about it. Limbs were lax, the air rushed.

The insistent shaking was the first sensation that came to him; flushed skin came into focus. Blinking as the pressure behind his eyes thrummed with each quickened heart beat, he groaned.

"H-hey—" he felt the resounding press of her voice on his cheek. Blinking again, some of the clarity returned when he found her looking down to him from his vantage at her shoulder. She must have caught him. "You okay?"

Nodding hurt, but she hesitantly released her hold on him regardless when he was surrounded in green again. "Yeah, thanks…"

Rubbing the particularly rigid knot at the base of his skull, the Lantern caught the tail end of the escaping alien as he dashed for the darkened alley below. The Thanagarian was not having any of that: "_Draaga_!"

Snatching her forearm when she dove after him, he urgently mustered, "forget him." When Hawkgirl's spread wings remained furled for the dive, he added, "J'onn and Superman are more important."

John shouldn't have been overly surprised at the precision of her growl when she obviously agreed—she didn't have to like it but she obviously knew her priorities. "Fine." With a short, aggravated huff, the woman faced him as he slowly released her arm and asked, "How _are_ we going to find them?"

Gliding down to the rooftop of one of the clay buildings, his eyes scanned the city to the dissolving clarity of the outskirts far from his sight. Unsettled, the Lantern felt time was limited for them. Intuition or not, her rustling feathers indicated she felt it too. "We need information—someone has to have seen them."

"Draaga did."

He couldn't help but agree. For all the scars and marred chunks of wounds littered on their guide's body, the one on his chest was not aged. It had been recently added to the collection of telling battle markers. Despite the plain face, the dread felt by the tall man was palpitating; Superman, at least, had been alive on this planet.

"Uncertainty looks terrible on you."

When she had his confused attention on her, the glare set on him doubled his bewilderment before she severed his anxiety instantaneously: "Don't doubt them. If we've made it this far, they will have done the same." Though her voice was bland of any undertones, her strange chastising was comforting enough to dissolve the thick anxious thudding of his heart. In its wake, surprise and a bit of unnerving; could she truly read him that well? He was not an open book by any means—relaying reassurances to others was a position he was in more often than not. Being the one in need of comfort was disconcerting. How could she have peered beyond that solemn but controlled countenance?

Viewing her from her poised posture as her sharp eyes swept the skyline, she was every bit as powerful as he was beginning to perceive her as. With authoritative words, she was the epitome of confidence with helm to the horizon, chin taut and lifted. Dry wind brushed strands of scarlet hair away from tensed shoulders, furled curling feathers against the smooth grain, glinted off the golden mask shielding an angled face—it was moments before he managed to jolt out of shameful ogling.

Clearing his throat and other odd sensations away, he met her pleased smirk riding on rose lips—perhaps less than ignorant as well—with a sensible nod of his head.

He quickly recovered even under subtly amused eyes. Saving him from anything else at his expense, she raised her head with a lavish smirk and shining wings spread: "let's get some answers."

Even as he followed her into the market, convincing himself that the shuddering pulse in his ears was just a adrenaline rush was harder than he expected it to be.

* * *

The moment that the secluded weapon station was mentioned, their eyes met in an instant. Shooting off of the dusty ground with the equally eager Thanagarian, the wind billowed as they took to the air above the city, racing towards the outskirts and into the desert. They hadn't even had the time to thank the three-eyed woman for her tip.

"We're back to square one if we get nothing out of this."

Nodding in agreement and squinting his eyes as the sand twirled in the fleeting air, he called back to her, "it's the biggest lead we have." They had been stunned when the blue and red 'S' was littered throughout the city, figures all alike sporting the emblem. Quickly learning of the popularity of the Kryptonian fighter, the information gleaned from praise of the hero to the utter resentment but predominant fear of their leader, Mongol. The situation was dire for not just their new hero but for civilization itself. The Thanarian had mentioned so while watching their fifth informant slip into the bustling market.

_This world is dying—in discord and suffering. _She had shaken her head with a rueful sneer, _and all a tyrant can supply are measly fights for entertainment. _At his raised brow towards the ironic qualm—coming from her especially—the corner of her lips twitched and she elaborated: _Violence isn't a substitution for what these people actually need._

It wasn't until their next discussion with a woman in rags that Mongol's weapon base was mentioned. Despite its lack of depictions by the homeless alien, murmurs had claimed he had enough power within it to wipe out an entire world.

Now speeding towards the isolated keep with the Thanagarian at his side, he couldn't help but hope there would be something of use at this place.

"We helped Draaga back to the city."

Wings thrusting in a gust, he frowned. "We didn't have a choice."

"Regardless," another beat of powerful wings shrouded her from him for a moment before it bowed back, "he will challenge Superman again."

"Let's just hope its fair at least."

He could only assume she had shook her head as her voice dipped closer then not, "he will be."

Somewhat curious, he inquired, "you seem pretty sure of that. Wasn't the whole problem here that he wasn't honest?" The throbbing bump on the back of his head pulsed in agreement.

The chuckle may have been a trick of the billowing air but he liked to have thought he heard the pleasing sound from her. "Being honor-bound entails the fight. It's his life—he is nothing unless he can reassume his prowess over Superman—the one that defeated him. Without that," the wistfulness he heard was too strange for it to have been real, "he is _nothing_."

Over the swirling dunes of sand, the shining metal of the complex neared in the distance. As the station became cleared over the swindles of willowing heat, he chanced: "Is that how it is on Thanagar?"

The gust of air and the blaring of approaching sirens was the only response he was given as she plummeted. Between two taloned hands, the mace sparked to life, igniting the currents around the spikes as her roar smashed the weapon through the fiberglass of the building.

The chocked relief that engulfed him was powerful. Throwing a shield around the Martian on the floor below, he flew down to him as his partner bashed through the shooting foes, mace alight.

Seeing the teal alien in front of him was an awe-inspiring reprieve; rejuvenation of hidden but frazzled nerves. Chancing the Martian a sideways glance under the onslaught of lasers, he asked, "you okay?"

The small incline of J'onn's head was his response before his gaze snapped away to the glowing machine. His call was not lost on the human as he yelled out: "The cannon!"

When Hawkgirl soared through blasts to the tip of the charged weapon, he yelled out. The woman was looking down the mouth of the canon as it mounted its destructive power, suspended before expelling the awesome beam. Meeting it head on, he could only watch as she hurled the mace head down on the blast, the explosion recoiling into the channel. The canon exploded down the length, shattering through the complex as it began to collapse. Grabbing the weakened J'onn and pulling his arm over his shoulder, he took to the sky through the open panel—"let's move!"

The station exploded in a series of blasts, the shockwave following nearly knocking him off course. Righted, he looked over his shoulder towards the angry flames of the station before continuing on.

"Thank you," swinging pale gaze back to the Martian next to him, the alien graced both he and Hawkgirl with a glance, "it would have been impossible to halt the detonation without your assistance."

As he nodded in acquisition, Hawkgirl chimed in front beside them, "what was that thing aimed for?"

He was somber when he replied, "Draaga's planet. Superman is to lose to Mongul lest it is destroyed." As if the Lantern needed another reason to loath the tyrant leader; by Hawkgirl's growl, he could only assume she thought similarly. "We must hurry, Superman will lose unless certain Draaga's world is safe."

Catching the woman's dark eyes in an exchanged glance, she nodded to him.

Pressing onward on dry gusts, the trio sped on, J'onn's vague psychic pull guiding towards the ruins.

* * *

"See what they think of their new hero now?" The sparking axe was lifted for the final strike. Mongul's taunting smirk widened: "Game over."

The bright shield that appeared in front of the fallen Kryptonian buffeted the swing. "Not yet." Mongul's wide red eyes spun around to them, green orb dissipating and the two heroes at his side scattered to surround the now out numbered tyrant. "We're going into overtime." Swooping down to stand beside Superman, another wave of relief swept through him seeing him a bit beaten up but unhurt otherwise.

J'onn leaned down to assist the Man of Steel to his feet while stating, "We destroyed his death ray. Draaga's world is safe."

"Then all bets are off." John found that, while he couldn't pity the retreating man, he couldn't say the fierce and determined promise from the Kryptonian didn't slightly intimidate him. From the agitated twitch of the Thanagarian's wings next to him, he felt better to know she at least shared those same thoughts, willingly or not. "You're _mine_."

"_No_, he's mine!"

All eyes turned to the declaration. From the pane of one of the crumbling buildings, Draaga appeared, halting Superman's punch and handing Mongul one himself, sending the alien flying into the piles of clay and metal. Brawny shoulder heaving with unrestrained passion, the Lantern watched as Mongul glowered and wiped at his lip with the back of his hand. "You'll regret that, Draaga."

It was difficult not to jump in. Despite knowing that this was so much more than a simple tournament battle for Draaga, it didn't relax his stance or calm his racing heart. Only when he felt a small pressure on his forearm did he avert his attention from the gruesome fight to the woman who held his arm under her palm. Slowly but enough for him to see it, she shook her head. Giving her a once over, it amazed him that she wasn't as riled as he was. Instead, it seemed to be the most placated he had seen her on this mission. Hawkgirl met her quizzical eyes with a small shrug and tight lips—solemn but not exasperatedly so. Instead, she merely turned back to the brawl as Draaga received a fist to the side of his head—one that sent him winding face first into the rubble. When her hand released him with a knowing smirk, he jumped at the chance—so, leaping over to Draaga as he groaned and pushed himself up again, the Lantern advised: "Keep your guard up on the left."

With that, the alien grunted before standing and rushing toward the waiting Mongul. In a fury of powerful jabs and blocks, the stalemate continued. Even the ex-marine could notice the shift in powers as the android camera expelled the cheering crowd: _Draaga! Draaga! _Finally landing an upper cut below the jaw of his opponent, Draaga's roar sounded through those present and the crowd through the android flier camera: "This is for my _people_!" The dimly heard mob screamed in encouragement from over the alien's shoulder when his fist connected with Mongul's right cheek. "And this is for my _humiliation_!" John withheld a wince at the crisp crack that cut through the heavy breathing when Draaga smashed the other cheek. "And this is for _justice_!"

Mongul's lax form crumbled in a heap at the feet of the bloody knuckled Draaga. From across the way, the puffed breast of a smirking Thanagarian was caught in his pale green vision, obviously pleased for the victor. The large alien crouched low, the android cheering and howling at his shoulder: "_Finish him! Finish him_!"

The deceivingly low rumble silenced the roars and acclamations: "_No_." Burly body hunched over the unconscious Mongul, Draaga's strewn and tethered knuckles stretched as he plucked the shining band from the ground. "He doesn't deserve the honor."

"Then it's over," the Kryptonian intoned solemnly.

John watched as Draaga turned towards Superman, Mongul's crown looking small and insignificant in his clenched hand. "Not yet." Extending the glinting band, he offered it to the hero, "Here. You should have Mongul's crown."

With barely hidden distain towards the token but knowing its significance, the Man of Steel declined: "Keep it." At the face he received, Superman's broad smile of encouragement made Draaga's hand recede and he continued, "you've earned a chance for a whole new life."

Stout and marred face contorting, he looked down to his own reflection in the metal crown. Brow crinkling in consideration, the question slipped out in a rumbling drawl. "What's life without honor? I'm not worthy."

Stirring the confident and satisfied smile on Superman's face, he conveyed every bit as much he could before pulling back towards the waiting heroes. "Draaga, the real test of honor isn't how you die. It's how you _live_."

Infusing the group into the power of the ring, the four pulled off of the ground before taking to the darkened sky. He was confident they would be able to reach Earth with enough time to recharge the power ring. Relieved and contented with having both J'onn and Superman safe and, for the most part, unharmed, he sped off into the stars, breathing a bit easier than he had since departing with the Thanagarian. At his prompt, both the Martian and Kryptonian delved into the details of their capture and their time on War World. With that distraction, the abyss around them seemed to pass more swiftly though he couldn't be sure; last time, the abrasive silence between him and a certain woman was pressing in itself.

And yet, now, John couldn't help but notice the complete and utter silence of her.

* * *

It was over a day later when he found her again. Quickly excusing herself upon the return to the Watch Tower, there hadn't been time to speak with her. But as he had lay awake, exhausted on his bed in the Detroit apartment, there had been plenty of time to think on it. He knew she had spoken to J'onn, albeit in her strange, apologetic but not apologetic way—he also knew the Martian had quickly diffused whatever she had been trying to repent for—there were no fault concerning the whole situation in the first place. There were no other words spoken on the matter; it should have been over.

But, as he watched her now, alone in the deck maintenance and leaned over the remains of the destroyed Javelin with the welding laser trained on the surface; somehow he knew that it wasn't.

It was only with the sentiment of being closer to her that allowed him to believe he could step forward. After all, they were friends now, right? Close enough to it—the fact that they had actually worked as a team together said something to him about the matter. At least, he hoped that is what it equated to.

From his view, he could say he felt a small bridge had been broached in their relationship. Was it too presumptuous to think she may feel the same?

"Hey."

Not sparing him a glance as the sparks riveted off the glowing surface, her noncommittal hum was the only indication she had heard him.

Observing the mass of broken parts, John had to ask, "you don't plan on fixing this _whole_ thing, do you?"

Cutting the flame, she peered a him with dark eyes before turning the sheet away from her to the jagged side, pressing it against the twin piece. Her silence was enough to answer him though.

A bit exasperated and beyond anxious on how to broach upon the subject, he finally gave in and just said it: "You don't have to compensate for an accident. It wasn't your fault."

Hawkgirl paused, profile frozen in a steely gaze at the dimly glistening metal.

"That _is_ what this is about, right?"

Shrugging a shoulder, she spoke, "I have to do this."

"But you didn't _do_ anything wrong."

There was a slight twist of her red lips. "Does it matter?"

Sighing, the Lantern finally pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, frustrated. Even if they weren't fighting, a part of him preferred that to this overcompensating and guilt ridden slip of a woman.

"He wasn't completely true, you know."

"Huh?"

Meeting her face, her narrow face was tilted to her project as she murmured, "Superman. What he said to Draaga."

Brow quirked, John waited for her to continue even if it was a complete change of subject.

"If for the greater good, death _can_ be honorable." There was a lift to her narrow face—to him, she looked _sad_. "There are those that would live life in self perceived honor—even if the end result is a lie."

Guessing but still confused, "redemption?"

Slanting dark eyes to his, his gaze drifted to the bottom of her face, to that sad smile that doubled his befuddlement. "_Exactly_."

The Green Lantern stayed with her for the rest of the evening as the sparks from the welding lit up the golden helm not inches from the flame. Musing, he knew that _some_ sort of bridge _had_ been crossed. He couldn't say to what but, eyeing her work before turning the sheet for her, he assumed that only time would tell.

* * *

**A/N: And that, dear friends, is the end of the War World installments! I hope that you enjoyed our first canon correspondence as much as I did. However, we will be taking a bit of break from them now so anything could happen between this and the next canon. :grins: Next chapter, back to Hawkgirl's point of view. Expect weekly updates on Sundays!**

**Also, because it is a day and half late, I made sure to add a bit more to the word count. I do hope that that makes up for it. :grins: Thank you for reading!**


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